


Holiness.

by Sunnyshine_D



Category: Original Work
Genre: Abuse, And I think its pretty, Cults, Past Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, This is a vent thing I wrote, thats all - Freeform, vent - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:55:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27774142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunnyshine_D/pseuds/Sunnyshine_D
Summary: Yeah. This is just a little vent thing I wrote about the idea of holiness and. My trauma. Lol





	Holiness.

I have a weird relationship with the way I view freedom and religion

What can be considered holy and considered not?

I’ve always thought of the existence of holiness as a higher power; or a self righteous attitude of those who are lost

Or as stained glass windows and pure gold and purity

Something inaccessible and not to touch, only to long for

Something people believe in to give them ground, a meaning.

But there was no holiness in my existence

There was no stained glass windows; there was no gold or light

My life was dark, and cold, and quiet

Yet still there was no religion

I always say I’ve never been one to pray, but that’s not true; I remember many times in my life when I would pray to whoever could hear me that I would survive another day

But wordless prayers meet the ears of no gods or saviours

And unholy lands are not touched by believers

People say religion can be a dangerous thing, and it can; they warn you of all the ways they will trap you away from society, they show us cults who pray to an unidentifiable god and weep for healing

Well I did some of those things

I prayed to a god I never knew and begged for safety, rescue from a prison of people who knew only each other

But there was no religion

There was no god

It was only a bunch of broken souls who didn’t know how to love.

I don’t consider myself religious, and never really have  
But it always interested me in an odd way

Seeing people find safety and family in something so void

And I suppose I understand it, too

Some nights, praying is all you can do.

But I don’t think I believe in any god, per say

I like stories. I like magical tales of higher powers rescuing people from dark, lonely spaces devoid of hope

And I think I like stories so much because I made them too

Imagining a new place full of gold and colour and hope amidst a place so cold can be wonderful

So I think I understand religion, but I don’t speak it

And I find myself wondering why I was warned all my life of how violent religion could be

And yet all the same denounced of my pain due to the absence of it

Those who believe in something see nothing else; those who believe in nothing see nothing at all

And all I can feel is the cold

And I think of stained glass windows and high ceilings and gold

And to me, in a way, it is holy, but not in its existence

What is holy, to me, is the opposite of home.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed. <3


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